


A Storm's Anchor

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Foreplay, Gentle Sex, M/M, Pillow Talk, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here in their own private little world they were the same, for once belonging, becoming one so seamlessly they could communicate without words, bodies knowing another's like they shared the flesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Storm's Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> My day has been 99.8% Wincest and there's only so much a boy can take. Therefore, sappy Destiel sex to soothe the burns.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

  
"Cas. Cas, goddamnit."  
Dean let out a small moan, neck bared and fists gripping the sheet underneath. He had tears in his eyes, and through his parted lips the breaths that escaped him were strained and he couldn't be sure if it was with need or the pain that he felt, but either or, he didn't want to be anywhere else.  
"Why -"

"Shh."

The angel nipped at the bone of his hip, tongue swirling around the sore spot immediately afterwards. The places he touched throbbed when he'd moved away, and Dean's fingertips - when they weren't occupied with the motel room's sheets - travelled the trail the older left behind, touching and tracking the bumps in his swelling skin, mapping out the bruises left behind. His lips turned to a smile as his eyes closed, hips jumping to the softness of the older's abdomen that tensed and turned harder in turn to the unexpected pressure against it. The hunter's cock was trapped between them, still tied down by the soft fabric of his boxers although he was aching to be released from them.  
Castiel's hands took a firm hold of his hips to keep them still, lips heading back for his belly and chest instead. He'd done this four times already, barely moving an inch lower per time, yet it was as if each of his kisses left behind a burning mark and Dean wouldn't have needed the way he'd pulled back the boxers in order to know how much they'd progressed. Not much, but so much that it was agonizing for him to know his release was always just that much further.

"How long -"

Castiel didn't cut him off this time, his own swallow did. His whole body shook to the violent shiver that ran through him. This was the first time he'd been allowed to speak in a long, long while - it felt like an hour, but it was probably no more than twenty minutes, not even half of what his mind would have thrown in for an immediate estimation.  
Seconds turned slow, stretched.

"How long are you going to give me?" he finished, voice timid and afraid of the answer he'd get.

The angel stopped, turned still; it took him a moment to sit up. He'd been fully nude for the longest while now, but even after all this effort he'd put into Dean, he was only half-erect where Dean was throbbing solid.  
Smoothly, the older climbed on Dean's hips and sat on him, most of his weight shared between his two knees digging into the bed's soft mattress. He leaned in and they kissed, Dean with a hint of desperation and Castiel with the gentleness of another being from the one that was gnawing his lover raw.

"I thought we had a night to us," Castiel spoke softly with a hint of tease in his voice.

"We do, but -"

"That's what you'll have."  
Dean felt the smile on the older's lips. For a moment, a past-driving car's headlights illuminated the white ceiling, turning its nightly blue to a shade of pale yellow. After the light was gone, the darkness seemed more impenetrable than it had been.  
"Are you comfortable?"

"I'm," Dean started and swallowed again.  
He wasn't sure if he was crying. The hitches in his breath sounded like he was. The burn in his eyes told him he was. But he didn't feel like crying.  
"Needy."

A brief, gentle chuckle was the response he got.  
Castiel rose up again and his hips nudged, the movement spreading into a slow, rhythmic rocking that threatened to make the younger howl. Instead a long, strained whimper came out - he pushed his hips into the warmth of the older's through the damned cloth and he rocked, too, making the most of each of the other's movements.  
Their eyes met, held contact; both had a smile in that look, even if they both were serious, almost expressionless, by facial features alone.  
It seemed like a challenge: it didn't seem loving.

Dean's palms slid over onto Castiel's sides, pressing into his soft, warm flesh.

"You're so good," he whispered.

Castiel leaned in again, mouth to mouth but not kissing; nose to nose, and Dean reached to rub them together. Both chuckled.

"You make me better," the angel spoke in turn.  
Dean merely nodded.  
"You're all the grace I need."  
Dean nodded again, uncertain.  
"You're all the mercy I have."  
That was a bit of a stretch.

Dean's teeth took a gentle, teasing hold of the older's lower lip, tugged playfully at it and released it when it didn't follow effortlessly anymore. A soft wet sound was released at its contact to the older's teeth.  
"You're a big fat ugly liar, Cas."

"And yet," the other huffed with a tone of weary annoyance in his voice, "you'd give half a world away to make love to me."

Dean thought for a moment.  
"A third, maybe," he breathed tensely, "but..."  
He pushed his hips up again, challenging Castiel's balance on top of him. The other's flesh felt so good, so soft around his straining length - the pressure of his thighs around Dean's hips reminded him of just how safe he was there underneath the angel. He was held by a being so powerful it would only take a snap of his fingers to undo everything Dean was, and yet, somehow - unbelievably - he was only there to give himself to the human in whole. On his terms, but just because that was the way Dean wanted him.  
  
Dean's right hand fell from the angel's side and wrapped around his warm sex instead, fingers wrapping tight around it to bring the right amount of pressure onto him as he started moving his wrist lazily up and down. Against his palm, the hardening length's veins and skin felt much nicer than his own ever had: he wondered if it was objective, or simply a sign that he'd held himself too much.

"But what?" Castiel asked, his voice barely a shaky whisper.  
He wasn't as patient or as held-together as he liked to appear. All it took was Dean's attention on him and he turned to this, hips twitching and jerking towards the touch and body shaking from need rather than want. He was so easy, so into it; all it took was a little tempting.

"But I'm already making love to you, Cas."  
Dean chuckled, this time quite certain he was in fact crying.  
"And that's what you came for, isn't it. To feel me -"  
His hips bucked up again, teasingly rubbing into the older's body.  
"- right here, deep inside you. That's what you come to me for, don't you?"

Castiel couldn't make a sound; he trembled, hips pressing down into the touch, head bent back and hands trying to find a place to hold Dean from. They barely managed to grip his wrists but stayed there, painfully tight as soon as he figured how to use them again.

"I come to you because," the angel started but was cut off by an involuntary jump of his body in response to a rogue wave of pleasure, "because you make the world worth saving, because -"  
His head bent down and he shivered so hard his whole body tensed to it again. Almost lazily Dean's fingers wiped the sticky drops gathering by the tip of his length, eyes never leaving the pained expression on his face. A crooked smile lingered upon the younger's lips.  
"Because," Castiel continued once his voice functioned again, "of so many things that I cannot even name."

"I know."

"I know that you know."  
The angel chuckled and shook his head, hands returning onto the bed as he leaned over Dean, hips aiming down onto his and then off again as he lifted his leg from around the younger's body.  
"I also know that you need to hear it, and that you want to hear it. I'll tell you as many times as you want me to."

Dean didn't respond: maybe it was because he didn't have anything to add, or perhaps simply due to the feeling of those thrice-damned boxers finally sliding down his body and disappearing, landing on the floor with the quietest of thuds.  
Then Castiel was on him again, kissing - sucking - his neck, licking his ear, biting his lip. He responded with some of the same, fingers reaching to grab the older's body, clumsily bringing it over him. Their naked forms collided with a slap: the angel let out a small sound to complain, trying to reach over Dean's body but getting interrupted when the younger's tongue found the underside of his arm and licked teasingly through it. The ticklish feeling caused him to fall back, breath hitching and an expression of confusion and amusement on him.  
"You promised me a night," Dean noted, "so give me what you promised. I want in you but I don't want in you that bad, you know?"

"Nn."

A huff, then a chuckle escaped the hunter. He brought his fingers up into Castiel's hair and tugged, pulling his head back and revealing his cream-coloured neck; his lips pressed against it hungrily, sliding along it until the surface became too dry for that. Then his tongue lapped at it, circling up and along the male's jaw - the other was making soft sounds, small vocal huffs and short stumps of moans that cut into a satisfied, expecting silence.

"You want me, Cas?"

"Mm."

"You want me that bad?"  
Dean laughed.  
"You're hopeless."

He leaned back, relaxing the muscles he'd kept his body up with, back sinking into the mattress below as his hand reached for the bedside table. It didn't reach that far, but it had been where Castiel had tried to get earlier before Dean's tongue had invaded his unexpecting skin - now nothing stopped him, and he planted the lube onto Dean's palm with enough pressure to appear serious about it, like he'd just given him the keys to Heaven.  
In a way, he had, and in a very twisted, obscure way, Dean loved that thought.

He screwed open the tube's cap and spread the always a little cool slippery gel over his palm, enjoying the manner in which Castiel was already lifting his hips to make room for Dean's fingers. Dean wasn't reaching for him, not yet; instead, he made sure to give his own cock a little bit of attention first in slow, long movements, eyes locked with Castiel to witness each and every shade of emotion crossing his features. There was shock, surprise, frustration, desperation and then, finally, amusement. It was at that point that Dean's fingers moved onto his cock instead, the now warm remaining lube spreading onto him easily: the angel let out a long, relieved sigh that turned into a quiet, lengthy moan, hips rocking ever so slightly into the hunter's grip.

"Who's needy now?" Dean muttered in a soft voice.

"Do not mock me."

"I'd never," the younger laughed.

When his fist slid over the tip of the older's sex, Castiel relaxed again, rising up on his knees to regain the lost distance between their bodies. He looked at Dean in a calm manner now that the most pressing need was pushed back, sated, for the time being.  
"I did promise you the whole night," he noted, one knee pushing further on the mattress at the touch of Dean's now once more slippery fingertip against his flesh.  
He barely tensed when the younger entered him carefully, his short-trimmed nail pressing flat to the ring of muscle at the slightest angle to provide easier entry.  
"I only doubt," he then continued as if nothing had happened, although this time his lips remained parted, "whether you have a whole night in you."

Dean felt blood charging up to his cheeks.  
"Do you?" he asked, his tone of voice much more obviously teasing than Castiel's had been, although he knew by experience that there was that same intent behind the other's as well.

"I've got quite a few nights in me."

"That's unfair."  
The corner of Dean's mouth stayed up in a fond grimace.  
"Show me, Cas. D'you like it?"

The tip of the angel's tongue passed quickly over and across his lips and he let out a short breath, straightened up and pushed his hips down along Dean's finger. He was trembling, and Dean noted his cock giving a pleased nod to the motion; as the older exhaled, his body rose up again, sending a shiver through them both.

"Yeah, I think you like it."  
The second finger's entry wasn't much more difficult than the first one's. Of course, as an angel Castiel had perfect control of his muscles: this wasn't for his physical relaxation as much as it was for the connection they shared and to coax his anxious mind to a state of peace where he truly would be here and nowhere else, chained to the physical realm like a bird willingly flying back into a cage for a nice treat and fine company.  
Dean, as a bred pet bird, sure loved him there. Castiel, as a human, was as peculiar a creature as Castiel the angel was, fitting nowhere as well as he did beside Dean. The same went for Dean - despite sharing the feathers, he'd always been the odd one inside. Here in their own private little world they were the same, for once belonging, becoming one so seamlessly they could communicate without words, bodies knowing another's like they shared the flesh.

"C'mon, Cas."  
Dean pushed his fingers deeper, turning them into a gentle hook inside - his fingertips brushed, massaged, the wall of flesh, wet with lubrication as well as just the older's body. He pushed the tip of his nose against Castiel's collarbones, suddenly very close to his face as the older leaned down for a better angle, and the angel's breath came as huffs directly into his ear.  
"Let me know how you feel."

Trembling, the older tried to let go. It was the most difficult thing for him, to loosen up his absolute control enough to truly become present here, but Dean knew he was getting close by now. The tip of his nose brushed into Dean's ear and small, muffled moans left from between his lips, sometimes catching in his throat as he failed to allow them all the way out, but the more noise he made, the more his body moved, and the more instinctive the way his hips pushed down along Dean's fingers turned.

"That's good, angel. That's good. You feel so damn nice there."  
The tears had finally stopped pushing into Dean's eyes, and he still had no idea why they'd come in the first place. Maybe it was just the weariness in him, perhaps the happiness: maybe it was the knowledge of what they'd become, the most different of energies weaved so seamlessly into this whole that he'd feared would never turn from feverish, unachievable dreams to truth.  
"Want more?"

"I want _you_ ," Castiel challenged him in a strained tone.  
His skin was wet and so was Dean's.

"As I told you," Dean mumbled, fingers slipping out one by one, "you're the needy one."  
There was little distance between them, but Dean was used to that; he gripped his sex almost violently and brought it against the older's warm, relaxed flesh. The lube made him slip past twice, each rubbing slide causing him to bite his lip and Castiel to claw his shoulder, but then the angle was correct and he could push in, joining with the other so effortlessly it truly felt like becoming whole. All of the fumbling about from their past encounters had worn off now: everything that remained was the immediate common motion, rocking from one end to the other and bringing their whole bodies into it until they were holding onto each other tight as one smooth rhythm brought Dean deeper and back into relaxation over and over again.  
Their lips wandered: sometimes they met in the middle, at others one's mouth crossed the other's on its way somewhere else or slid wet across the other's chin or nose. Castiel loved planting kisses in places Dean wasn't so used to receiving them: the upper curve of his ear, on his brow, upon his eyelids and under his jaw. None of that felt bad to him, and sometimes when he got lost in the union of their bodies he noticed his own mouth replicating those unorthodox patterns like he'd accepted them as something else already. He'd noticed by accident that when he kissed the older between his brows, Castiel had a habit of bowing his head like receiving a blessing - in turn, he'd learned that he himself tended to crane his neck at the lightest touch of fingertips brushing over the pit at the base of his skull or when the older's touch followed the shape of it towards his shoulders.  
He'd noticed his hands tended to seek contact with where he assumed Castiel's wings connected to his vessel, wandering there almost as often as he held the older by his hips to feel the rocking motion of them against himself, pretending to or actually controlling it the way he felt was fitting.

Sometimes, rarely, Castiel would take him by the shoulders and push him down, locking him in place and taking control: he'd push him down roughly and quicken their pace until Dean ached just from the thought of how it felt to the older, but the stars in his own vision gave little room for doubt or begging for Castiel to think of himself first. Undoubtedly, he never crossed a line where he'd feel too uncomfortable, but just like Dean sometimes got lost in how much he wanted the angel to enjoy himself, Castiel did it too: he crossed lines he was doubtful about just to see Dean's pleasure skyrocket, and Dean knew that he'd in the past allowed himself to slip past the line of fear to know the same in the older.  
Twice he'd begged for Castiel to take him from behind, to grip his hair and to show him his place despite all of this often putting him in a state where he recalled things he'd rather not have remembered at all. In the older's hold, however, it was a safe place to visit his fears and to find them absolutely powerless over him where he now was. He'd learned that with the smallest arching of his back he'd be right where he longed to be, safe and sound with the angel that had carried his soul from the pits of Hell and stood with him through the end times to the date and would, undoubtedly, do beyond from here as faithfully as always. Being rough, experiencing pain and even facing fear with Castiel there with him was something Dean knew he could take, something he wished he'd had the courage to dwell in more, as somehow every time in the morning he surfaced a man much firmer and whole than he'd gone to bed the night before as, and when he showered off the sweat and the dried blood from his skin, he felt like he was washing away the memories of Hell and the guilt that so much of what he enjoyed now caused him.

He had little idea what ghosts Castiel chased away, but at his worst he became violent and uncontrolled, allowing himself well past the gentle creature he tended to be, only to prove them both that he still remained in control of himself - and he never, not even when he seemed completely lost in those moments, crossed a line or ignored the smallest of hints that Dean didn't feel safe with him anymore. It was like watching a typhoon turn into drizzle in a single gust of wind suddenly ceasing as the angel's grip loosened and his tense muscles relaxed, arms turning around Dean's body to show he was the most precious thing they'd ever touched, reminding him that he was safe, loved, needed; that he was the one anchor that would always ground Castiel right where he needed to be, as certainly as the earth kept turning underneath them.  
The moments when lines were crossed had become more and more rare, and slowly Dean learned to trust and just let go when Castiel did: after he'd endured the first storm in its full power, he'd found himself laughing at the end, with the angel so exhausted by his side that for a while he'd feared they'd accidentally broken the grace in him.

Tonight, they made love slow and gentle, and as uncertain as it had seemed, Dean had a whole night in him.  
Castiel, as if just to mock the futility of his frail endurance, had two in turn.


End file.
